Page 16 of Demon's Bane

Out of the dozen or so customers in the shop, at least three are witches.

The realization puts me immediately on edge.

There’s nothing, absolutely nothing that would make me think there’s any danger here. The witches I can identify are sitting peacefully, two alone, one chatting with other patrons, all perfectly innocuous.

It shouldn’t unsettle me as much as it does, but with my own sense of magick and safety still off-kilter in this strange realm and my mate in the other room, it kicks all my instincts into high-alert.

Doing my best to breathe through it, I try to distract myself with the book in my hands.

It was a surprise to discover the glamour Esme created must come with some sort of built-in translation charm. Though many of the books in Joan’s small collection contain phrases and details particular to this realm that make them difficult to comprehend, the words on the page are clear for me to read.

Out of curiosity, I tried looking at a human book during one of the few moments of indulgence when I’ve shed my glamour to stretch my wings and get some relief from the incessant magick of the disguise—always away from the windows and never when Joan’s home—and found that even without the charm, the writing was somewhat similar to the demon language.

Despite myself, and despite the mistrust I still feel for the coven and the unease of being in this realm, part of me is fascinated.

How many more similarities might there be between our realms?

I could ask Joan about it, if she’d stop moving for even a moment. If she’d give me more than the few minutes in the mornings and evenings when she comes and goes from her apartment, perhaps it might be something I could ask her about.

But I don’t blame her for her mistrust, not when I’m still harboring plenty of my own.

A motion from the doorway leading into the kitchen draws my attention, chest tightening when I see who’s standing there like I’ve conjured her with my brooding.

Joan looks radiant today, and also incredibly irritated when she spots me sitting at my little corner table and crosses the space toward me like a tiny, angry storm cloud.

Her long black hair is pulled into a braid that hangs down her back. Her eyes are lined with more of that dark, smoky kohl and her lips are painted a deep burgundy. She’s wearing a black dress that hugs her petite frame and ends at mid-thigh, some kind of black hosiery that clings to her legs, and black boots laced up to mid-calf.

All darkness and temptation, my mate.

All spice and temper and walls high enough that all I want to do is tear them down and see what’s on the other side.

“What are you doing in here?” she hisses under her breath as she reaches my table.

“Reading.” I shrug, gesturing to where I’ve laid the book down on the table. “An interesting library you keep, with these stories about fae princes and the realm of faerie. Have you been?”

She looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Been where?”

“To the fae realm. It’s one of the thirteen—”

My words cut off as she slaps a hand over my mouth. Her palm is warm, calloused in places from the work she does from dawn until dusk, and I resist the urge to swipe my tongue out for a taste.

“Are you insane?” she asks, dropping her voice even lower, then casting a quick glance around the room before giving her head a sharp shake. “Come with me.”

Removing her hand from my mouth, she turns and heads for the door I entered the shop through earlier. With nothing to do but follow her, I find myself in the close confines of the back hall with my scowling mate.

And I might be Goddess-damned for it, but even with that scowl focused entirely on me, it’s the most relaxed I’ve felt in days.

This close to her—close enough that touching her would only take the smallest shift, half a heartbeat to feel her warm skin against mine—I finally feel as if I can breathe.

Mate. My mate. Here and safe.

And still incredibly irritated with me.

She plants her hands on her hips, speaking quietly so no one out in the shop will overhear us. “Most of the customers in here are mundane. As in, not witches. As in, absolutely do not know anything about any realms other than this one.”

“Perhaps someone should tell them,” I suggest mildly, wondering at the fact most humans know so little about the truth of their own realm and its place in the Goddess’s grand scheme.

“No, perhaps someone should absolutely not tell them. I realize you’re not too familiar with this realm, but anything to do with magick and demons and all the different realms is more likely to cause mass panic and persecution rather than some kind of enlightenment.”